


Plus Fur

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Ears, Cat/Human Hybrids, Dog/Human Hybrids, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hybrids, M/M, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-30 20:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis is more of a cat person, but Gladio knows of a dog in need of a good home.





	1. Offer

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is going to be 3 increasingly short scenes of nonsense; you’ve been warned. (The hybrids here are human bodies with animal ears/tails, plus human sentience but animal behaviour.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Yes?” Ignis asks, but Gladiolus just nods and slips out from the back counter. As he diverts into the hallway exiting the lobby, Ignis falls into step, clarifying, “Why exactly did you need me here? I have work in two hours, and I still have to make Noct’s dinner...”

“Just feed him from the can like everybody else,” Gladiolus snorts, which horrifies Ignis. He sincerely hopes that Gladiolus is joking. And he’s pleased that Gladiolus doesn’t have his own pet to care for. It’s troubling enough to know that shelter workers would even suggest such a thing, but then, Ignis understand that the underpaid, over-worked staff likely doesn’t have the time to make the diverse, nutritional meals that he likes to feed his hybrid. Beyond that, cats are notoriously picky. It’s taken years for Ignis to develop subtle enough techniques to slip vegetables into Noctis’ diet and have him actually eat them. But then, Gladiolus always tells Ignis that he spoils Noctis—perhaps the shelter’s cats aren’t quite so difficult. 

Gladiolus makes his way into the back, weaving through the different sectioned areas into the wide, open play area for the hybrid dogs. Two large, black german shepherds roughly Gladiolus’ size are rambunctiously playing with a beach ball in the center, while a short corgi and a redheaded pomeranian fight over a chew toy beyond them. A wiry pinscher’s curled up not far away, evidently fast asleep. And a blond boy is hunched over in the corner, forlornly eyeing the others, either of a foreign breed that Ignis doesn’t know or simply an indistinguishable mutt. They all wear similar, simple garments provided by the shelter, as, in Ignis’ experience, hybrids care little about human clothing choices. Gladiolus gestures over the waist-high divider wall towards the blond one. “Weren’t you just saying the other day that you feel bad for how much you work and leave Noct home alone? Maybe it’s time for a second pet.” 

Ignis frowns. He can’t imagine why Gladiolus would point to the mutt, of all choices. Or why a _dog_ at all. Another cat would be the obvious option, and even if he were to do that, he’d obviously have to bring Noctis along to make the decision. He tells Gladiolus dryly, “I don’t believe I mentioned wanting to buy a rescue dog.”

Gladiolus sighs. He shrugs his massive shoulders, admitting, “I know. But... just look at the poor thing.” He points again, and Ignis does look, though he doesn’t discern anything more compelling than he did the first time. “He’s from the Empire—a discard of the Chancellor himself, if you believe the local rumour mill. Did you know they tattoo barcodes onto their hybrids?” Ignis automatically winces—he did know that, and he’s always thought it extremely cruel. A collar should suffice, though even that is largely unnecessary—most hybrids are perfectly capable of _telling_ people where and to whom they belong if they ever should get lost. And sentient creatures rarely get lost at all. Gladiolus continues in a quieter voice, “You know what it’s like, Iggy. It’s hard enough for hybrids with behavioral issues, but add to that that he’s a Niff? No Lucian’s going to want to take a Niflheim hybrid home.”

Ignis doesn’t question the ‘behavioral issues’—he knows that any discarded hybrid is going to have some, and if the blond was owned by the Imperial Chancellor, he’ll definitely have problems. It’s that _Imperial_ part that makes him sad—Gladiolus is quite right; the blond will likely be in the shelter for the duration of his life.

But that isn’t _Ignis’_ problem, and he suggests instead, “Perhaps Iris would enjoy him?”

“Except Iris lives at home, and I get enough of them here. I don’t think I could take a dog running up to me and licking my face at home too.”

Ignis’ frown deepens, because Gladiolus should know perfectly well that he likes that sort of behaviour even less. He does allow Noctis to rub against him and occasionally lick him, but certainly not a full frontal assault whenever he enters his apartment. He’s quite certain that a dog would be far less graceful.

Gladiolus still pushes, “Come on, Iggy. You’re a great caretaker. You’d be perfect for him.”

“Thank you. But you know I already have a hybrid that I have to think about. I’ve had Noctis since I was a child and he was a kitten, and he’s grown quite used to having both me and my apartment all to himself. I can’t imagine he’d appreciate me bringing a dog into his territory.”

“I get it,” Gladiolus snorts, “he’s spoiled.”

“Perhaps. But the fact remains that his happiness is my top priority.”

“It’s still _your_ apartment.”

“Legally, perhaps, but only because he has no interest in the human concept of a lease. In reality, he occupies it far more than I do.”

Gladiolus rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like he’s got a working office there or something. All he does is sleep and eat fish and hiss when you’re not giving him enough attention. He can still do all that with a dog around.”

“Yet if I were to adopt a second pet, he would only have half as much of my time. You’ve seen how he gets when I don’t pet him enough. Now you want me to pet someone else right in front of him?”

“You don’t need to pet this one,” Gladiolus insists. Ignis’ blank stare must convey that he doesn’t believe that for a second, because Gladiolus sighs again and nods towards the blond. That blond is still shrinking into the corner, though now his gaze has moved onto Gladiolus and Ignis, who he watches with clear trepidation. The bushy yellow tail curled behind him flicks nervously, his trim body taut with tension. He’s built well—lightly toned, though perhaps a tad too thin to be truly healthy, and his bright hair is brushed up in playful spikes. It looks like he has all sorts of energy trapped beneath his softly freckled cheeks—he just doesn’t know yet if he’s allowed to express it. Ignis can admit that the more he looks into the dog’s blue eyes, the more they play at his heartstrings. Add to that that the boy looks to be about Noctis’ age, and Ignis can feel Gladiolus’ arguments weight on him. Gladiolus goes on: “Look, you just give him some toys, tell him he’s allowed to play with them, and as he gets more comfortable with you, he’ll do fine on his own. C’mon. At least _try_ it. You can’t tell me he’s not cute—maybe you’ll even fall as hard for him as you did that rotten cat of yours.”

Ignis shoots Gladiolus a hard glare for daring to call his beloved Noctis ‘rotten,’ but Gladiolus is wearing a crooked smile, and Ignis knows Gladiolus is only teasing. He always jumps to pet Noctis when he comes over, as any sane person would. Although, Noctis does tend to hiss at guests until they prove themselves both a good friend to Ignis and a good petter.

A dog is a whole other story. Ignis can easily picture Noctis tense in the doorway, velvety black tail standing on end at the sight of a cowering dog. At least Ignis doesn’t have to worry that Noctis would ever be hurt by one—Ignis always lets him keep his claw-like nails long and sharp enough to defend himself, and for all his languor, he can be incredibly strong when he wants to be. 

Gladiolus tries one last strategy: “How about a trial period? Take him for twenty-four hours, and if you still don’t want him by the end of it, I’ll come right over and pick him up. Guaranteed.”

A ‘no’ is still on the tip of Ignis’ tongue. He really doesn’t need another hybrid. His apartment’s already small. He won’t have the time to take the blond for many walks. He’s sure he’s heard that hybrid-dogs do need their owners with them to keep them from chasing cats, getting into fights with other hybrids, defecating on the street, and getting hit by cars. But perhaps that’s all propaganda spread by hybrid-cat people. Either way, he can’t see Noctis volunteering to take the blond for a walk; Noctis is a lazy housecat through and through.

But that _is_ a dreadfully boring life, even if Noctis does seem happy enough with just sleep, fish, and occasional attention. Surely he could use more attention than Ignis is able to give. And the blond _is_ horribly cute. The more Ignis looks at him, the more tempting it is to just climb over the wall and go over to pet and praise him. 

Finally, Ignis begrudgingly agrees, “ _Less_ than twenty-four hours. I’ll leave him with Noctis when I go to work tonight, and when I come back, if Noctis wants his territory back, that’s the end of it.”

Gladiolus grunts, “Deal,” and thrusts out his hand. Against his better judgment, Ignis shakes it. Lips quirking into a triumphant grin, Gladiolus adds, “I’ll be expecting your phone call tonight... to hear how perfectly Prom fits.”

Ignis assumes that’s the dog’s name. Turning towards the pen, Gladiolus whistles and calls, “Prompto!”

The blond’s ears perk, tail wagging, and he scrambles right over.


	2. Presentation

It doesn’t feel right to clip a leash to a humanoid’s throat, even though he knows that Prompto is far from _human_. The way he sticks his head out of the window on the ride home is proof enough. The collar is largely a safety precaution that Gladiolus warned him of—newly bought rescue dogs, human-hybrid or animal, can be skittish, and they could seriously injure themselves bolting off inside a busy city. Prompto makes no move to run, just looks curiously at everything like he wants to snap a hundred photos. It’s a far cry from Noctis’ demeanor during car trips, which only ever amounts to sleeping in the backseat. 

Outside the apartment building, Ignis is sure to explain how to get into the lobby, and though Prompto eagerly listens to Ignis, his attention diverts the second a pigeon passes them. Ignis doubts he’ll remember the pass-code long, but hopefully, he won’t wander outside on his own much. And, of course, he would only have to hit the intercom, and Noctis could buzz him in. Except that Noctis never answers the intercom. Noctis would probably just sit by the window, staring idly down at the poor puppy left pawing at the lobby’s doors.

With a mental sigh, Ignis repeats the code, then takes Prompto through into the elevator. Prompto still looks wildly around, even with nothing but the close-cut four walls around them. Ignis tries, “Do you have any questions, Prompto?”

Eyes going wide, Prompto bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. Ignis can’t imagine that’s true—surely any sentient creature would have _questions_ about entering a new home. But Prompto doesn’t express them, and Ignis doesn’t want to push him. Gladiolus said just to take it slow and make him ‘comfortable.’

Outside his apartment door, Ignis fishes the keys out of his pocket and relays, “There’s a spare set hanging just inside that you may use if you wish to go out, but I would ask that you not do so on your own until I’ve made sure you understand the area better.” Prompto looks surprised, then hurriedly nods. After a second’s pause, Ignis realizes that he’s spoken as though Prompto’s _staying_. As Prompto melts into a look of bottled excitement when the lock clicks, Ignis decides not to correct himself. 

Prompto obediently follows him inside but goes stock still as Ignis shuts and locks the door again. Prompto tentatively sniffs the air, and Ignis can imagine what he’s picking up. But Ignis already warned Prompto that he had a hybrid cat, and that that cat needed to be treated like a prince. In the shelter, Prompto gave no objections. Gladiolus quickly assured him that Prompto could play well with others. 

It’s not _Prompto’s_ social skills that Ignis is worried about. Right on time, Noctis wanders into the hallway, dressed in the same crisp button-up shirt that he stole from Ignis’ drawers that morning. The long hem falls just past Noctis’ thighs, making something of a dress on him, but wearing Ignis’ taller clothes has been a habit of Noctis’ since he was a kitten, one that Ignis was never quite able to break him of. It doesn’t seem to matter that Ignis has bought Noctis plenty of stylish, better-fitting clothes in his favourite colour—black. Sometimes Noctis wears them proudly and scoffs at Ignis’ ‘stuffy human style.’ But other times he rolls into whatever’s come hot out of the drier, even if it was the same clothing he just made fun of yesterday. 

Prompto’s still wearing the plain grey hand-me-down jeans and tank he had on at the shelter. Noctis eyes that, eyes him, examining Prompto from head to foot while Prompto stands tensely in place. Ignis keeps hoping that they’ll slip back into normalcy—that Noctis will drop to all fours and come rub against Ignis’ legs like he always does when Ignis first comes home. 

Instead, Noctis shoots Ignis a sudden glare and accuses, “You got another hybrid.”

“For _you_ ,” Ignis smoothly adds. “You know that I feel guilty working so much, so I thought it might be nice for you to have someone to play with.” He doesn’t mention that it was actually _Gladiolus’_ idea—Noctis doesn’t like listening to him. Or anyone. Even Ignis’ advice only gets by here and there.

Maybe Ignis will get lucky and Prompto will change that. He fidgets on the spot, his tail swishing to unintentionally brush against the back of Ignis’ leg. As cruel as it feels to say in front of Prompto, Ignis did explain the situation, and he tells Noctis, “It’s only a trial, Noct. I’d like to leave him here during my shift tonight, and hopefully you can have fun with each other. If you don’t, I will take him back to the shelter tomorrow.” He sincerely hopes that Noctis picks up on the word ‘shelter’ and realizes that he needs to play nice.

Noctis just makes a grumbling noise, tail flicking dangerously. 

Ignis sighs, “At least _try_. His name is Prompto, and I have it on good authority that he’s a sweet boy.” Ignis purposely stops himself from saying ‘dog.’ When Noctis doesn’t promise anything, Ignis turns to Prompto and introduces, “As I’m sure you’ve realized, this is Noct, my cat.”

Prompto smiles hopefully and tilts forward, only to hesitate and pull back. Then he sucks in a breath and goes for it, stepping closer and deliberately sniffing Noctis. Noctis wrinkles his nose, but thankfully, he doesn’t hiss. Instead, he bats at the leash that hangs down from Prompto’s collar—a standard piece on loan from the shelter. If this works out, Ignis will return it soon and ask Prompto if he’d like another one, like the black designer set that Noctis likes to wear on special occasions.

Ignis ultimately waits for Noctis’ decision, and finally, Noctis seems to give his approval, in the form of shrugging and heading back for the living room. Prompto’s eyes follow Noctis’ tail as it sways away. Ignis gets out of his shoes, helps Prompto out of the used runners the shelter put him in, and stands up again to unclip his leash and unclasp his collar. Hanging it on the door next to Noctis’ accessories, Ignis tells Prompto, “Run along, then. I’d like you to make yourself as much at home as possible. I’ll have dinner made shortly, but I’m afraid if you do think of any questions, you’d best ask me soon—I have to be leaving for work in about half an hour.”

Prompto looks surprised again. Ignis doesn’t know what at. But then a bright smile twists its way across his handsome features, and he chirps happily, “Thank you, Master!” He turns towards the living room, the way that Noctis went, except that Ignis gently catches his wrist to stop him.

Ignis softly corrects, “You may call me ‘Ignis,’ or even ‘Iggy’, if you prefer.”

Prompto smiles broader and nods. Then he steps back and leans up to quickly lick Ignis’ cheek before scampering off after Noctis. Ignis is left standing in the hallway, face wet and warm. 

At least he now knows that Prompto can talk—he’d thought that pets weren’t allowed to do so in the Empire. Of course, Prompto is in Lucis now, and Ignis knows that Insomnia’s shelter is run by big teddy bears like Gladiolus.

Wandering slowly around the corner, Ignis watches his pets. Noctis has returned to his favourite spot on the couch, curled up in the last remnants of the evening sun, while Prompto kneels on all fours in front of him and curiously nuzzles at his shoulder. Noctis keeps batting him away, but the half-hearted efforts look more playful than annoyed. His ears are perked and turned towards Prompto, showing that he doesn’t _really_ want to sleep. 

When he bats too close to Prompto’s mouth, Prompto nips at his fingers. Noctis whines, but Prompto’s tail wags. 

Ignis can’t help his smile. He moves into the kitchenette, keeping an ear out for their barks and purrs.


	3. Sold

Despite the good start earlier, Ignis is wracked with nerves. He knows that Noctis is extremely capable and could defend himself admirably, and he could always call Ignis if anything went wrong, but Noctis has as low an opinion of human technology as most hybrids. As Ignis makes the long drive home, Noctis’ safety and Noctis’ happiness weigh heavily on his mind. He feels foolish for ever letting Gladiolus talk him into this.

He’s still nervous as he parks the car, enters the lobby, waits in the maddeningly slow elevator, and finally reaches his apartment. He’s usually careful to open the door quietly in case Noctis is sleeping in the living room, but now he just wrenches it open and walks inside.

A pair of his shoes is strewn across the hallway. Ignis shuts the door behind himself, body going cold. He doesn’t waste time slipping out of his current shoes or putting the others away.

The living room is empty. At least, empty of hybrids. It’s littered with Noctis toys—chew toys, bell toys, even his scratching post knocked onto its side and dragged across the rug. The coffee table’s upended. The framed picture of Noctis’ favourite fish—the noble arapaima—is askew. 

Heart in his throat, Ignis follows the line of toys into the second bedroom that’s become Noctis’ den. The door’s already ajar, and Ignis pushes through, only to slump with instant relief.

Noctis is curled up inside his human-sized cat-bed, Prompto snuggled against him. The two are so intertwined that it’s hard to tell where one hybrid starts and the other ends. Their tails are even braided together—Prompto’s big, bushy monstrosity and Noctis’ long, trim elegance. Noctis is even lightly _purring_ , which he rarely does during his naps, unless he’s only lightly dozing and _very_ content. 

The scene is almost heart wrenching in its adorable beauty. Ignis reaches for the phone tucked into his pocket, but there isn’t time to take a picture—Noctis’ ear twitches, and Ignis knows that he’s already stirring. Sure enough, his head tilts back, and he yawns, half-lidded eyes peering blearily at Ignis. He takes his sweet time waking up, and then he pauses to nuzzle into Prompto and lick his face. Prompto croons joyfully in his sleep and curls tighter around Noctis. Noctis still manages to twist out of it, to efficiently detangle himself without waking Prompto. Ignis waits as Noctis crawls across the bedroom floor, finally lifting to his feet near Ignis and strolling, two-legged, into the living room.

Ignis follows. Noctis seems to wake up more and more the farther he goes, until they’re all the way across the apartment outside Ignis’ bedroom. There, he turns on his heel, and he tells Ignis quietly but firmly, “You can’t take him back.”

Ignis lifts a brow. A light blush blossoms across Noctis’ cheeks. Even though Ignis has hardly denied him, he hotly insists, “I’m keeping him.”

Ignis himself hardly had much time with Prompto. He liked what time they did have—Prompto grew on him rather quickly, just as Gladiolus said. But Noctis’ words are enough to seal the deal. Ignis will even have fun relaying Noctis’ wording—he’s sure Gladiolus will get a kick out of it, just as he always does when Noctis refers to Ignis as ‘his human.’ 

The only sore spot is the house. Part of having a pet is cleaning up after them, just as much as taking care of them and offering unconditional love. But Noctis has never been _quite_ this messy on his own, and Ignis can’t help but glance at the coffee table in particular and note, “It certainly looks like the two of you had fun.”

A grin twitches at Noctis’ lips. He drawls, “That’s what you get for buying a dog; they’re not as sophisticated as cats.”

Though Noctis hardly deserves to be preening over cleanliness, Ignis ascents, “I suppose not.” Noctis straightens triumphantly. “Yet if you want me to have a dog, I suppose I will.”

“ _I_ have a dog,” Noctis corrects. Then he leans in to affectionately lick Ignis’ cheek, not far from where Prompto did. It’s a smaller, less messy action, and Ignis knows it’s a rare occurrence—a fond display that he’s proud to earn. As Noctis pulls back again, he purrs, “ _And_ a human.”

“So you do.” Ignis bends to return the favour, pressing a chaste kiss against Noctis’ forehead.

Then he turns back to begin picking up the toys. Noctis crawls right past him, off into the bedroom, where Ignis soon goes to check on them again. They’re cuddled up, just like how he first found them. 

Ignis is sure to take a picture and forward Gladiolus the good news.


End file.
